Nine

Two trips to the morgue in as many days, I thought, hoping I wasn't starting a pattern. My gardening sneakers were silent on the cement; David's steps beside and a little behind me were heavy with a deep depression. Kisten was behind him, and the vampire's obvious unease would have been funny if we weren't trooping down here to identify three Jane Wolfs.

The focus was in my bag now, silent and quiescent this far from the full moon. It still held the chill from David's freezer and made a cold spot against me. Experience said that next Monday it would have shifted from a bone statue of a woman's face to a silver-sheened wolf's muzzle, dripping saliva and making a high-pitched squeal only pixies could hear. I have to get rid of this thing. Maybe I could use it to pay off one of my demon marks. But if Newt or Al sold it in turn to someone else and it started an Inderland power struggle, I'd feel responsible.

We reached the end of the stairway, and with the two men trailing behind me I turned smartly to the right and followed the arrows to the double doors. "Hi, Iceman," I said, smacking the left side of the swinging door open and striding in as if I owned the place.

The young man sat up, pulling his feet from his desk. "Ms. Morgan," he said. "Holy cow, you gave me a start."

Kisten slunk in after me, eyes darting everywhere. "Come here often?" he asked when the kid behind the desk put down his handheld game and stood.

"All the time," I quipped, extending my hand to meet Iceman's grip. "Don't you?"

"No."

Iceman's attention flicked from me to Kisten, finally lingering on David, standing with his hands at his sides. His enthusiasm to see me dimmed as he realized we were here to identify someone. "Oh, uh, hey," he said, his hand slipping from mine, "It's great to see you, but I can't let you in there unless you have someone from the I.S. or the FIB with you." He winced. "Sorry."

"Detective Glenn is on his way," I said, feeling bouncy for some reason. Sure, I was here to identify a corpse or three, but I knew someone Kisten didn't, and that didn't happen often.

Relief turned him back into a young kid who should be serving smoothies at the mall, not morgue minding. "Good," he said. "You're welcome to sit on a gurney while you wait."

I glanced at the empty gurney against the wall. "Ah, I think I'll stand," I said. "This is Kisten Felps," I added, then turned to David. "And David Hue."

David pulled himself together and, finding a professional air, came forward with his hand extended. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, rocking back as soon as their handshake ended. "How… how many Jane Wolfs do you get on average a month?"

His voice carried a hint of panic, and Iceman went closed, sitting back behind his desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hue. I really shouldn't—"

David held up a hand and turned away, head bowed in worry. My good mood vanished. A sharp cadence of hard-soled shoes in the outer hallway brought our attentions up, and I puffed in relief when Glenn's powerfully built frame came through the door, his thick hand holding the heavy metal easy and his dark skin and pink fingernails standing out against the stark whiteness of the chipped paint. He was in his usual coat and tie, the butt of a pistol showing past his jacket. Angling himself, he slipped in almost sideways so he wouldn't have to open the door entirely.

"Rachel," he said as the door swung shut. His gaze lit on David and Kisten, eyebrows settling into a closed cast of FIB officialness. David's confidence had degraded into depression, and Kisten was nervous. I was getting the distinct impression he didn't like it down here.

"Hi, Glenn," I said, conscious of my less-than-professional appearance in sneakers, faded green T-shirt, and dirt-marked jeans. "Thanks for letting me get you out from behind your desk."

"You said it was about the Jane Wolfs. How could I refuse?"

David's jaw tightened. The reaction wasn't missed by Glenn, and his gaze softened, now that he understood why David was here. I could feel Kisten behind me, and I turned to him. "Glenn, this is Kisten Felps," I said, but Kisten had already pushed forward, smiling with his lips closed.

"We've met," Kisten said, grasping Glenn's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Well, in a manner of speaking. You were the one that downed the waitstaff at Piscary's last year."

"Using Rachel's splat gun," Glenn said, suddenly nervous. "I didn't…"

Kisten released his hand and stepped away. "No, you didn't tag me. But I saw you during the wrap-up. Good shooting. Accuracy is hard to find when your life is on the line."

Glenn smiled to show his flat, even teeth. He was the only FIB guy I knew besides his dad who could talk to a vamp without fear and knew to bring breakfast when knocking on a witch's door at noon. "No hard feelings?" Glenn asked.

Shrugging, Kisten turned to the double doors leading to the hallway. "We all do what we have to do. It's only on our days off we get to be ourselves."

You aren't kidding, I thought, wondering what kind of a mess Kisten was going to find himself in if Piscary got out. I wasn't the only one the master vampire had unfinished business with. And while Piscary could hurt Kisten while he was still in prison, I had a feeling that the undead vampire enjoyed drawing out the fear of the unknown. He might forgive Kisten for giving me Egyptian embalming fluid to incapacitate him, seeing the betrayal as the act of an unruly, rebellious child. Maybe. Me, he was just ticked at.

His shoes scuffing, David came forward. "David. David Hue," he said, eyes pinched. "Can we please get this over with? "

Glenn shook his hand, his expressive face turning to a professional detachment I knew he used so he could sleep at night. "Of course, Mr. Hue," he said. The FIB detective glanced at Iceman, and the college kid tossed him the Bite-Me-Betty doll with the key. Catching it, the rims of the upright, meticulous FIB officer's ears darkened in embarrassment.

"Rachel?" Kisten murmured as we all headed that way. "Ah, if you can get a ride home with David, I need to fly on out of here."

I stopped. Glenn turned from holding the door open for me. Through it I could see the comfortable seating arrangement and Iceman's work partner puttering around with a clipboard, peering over his glasses at us. Kisten is afraid of the dead?

"Kisten…" I coaxed, not believing it. I had wanted to stop at The Big Cherry on the way home to pick up Glenn's tomato fix, at a charm shop for the lilac wine, and just about anywhere for a box of birthday candles for me in the hopes that a cake might be in my future. But Kisten backed up a step.

"Really," he said. "I have to go. There's some rare cheese coming in today, and if I'm not there to sign for it, I'll have to go to the post office and pick it up."

Rare cheese, my ass. And I hate not having my own car. Hip cocked, I took a breath to complain, but David interrupted with an easy, "I'll get you home, Rachel."

Kisten's eyes were pleading. Giving up, I muttered, "Go on. I'll call you later."

He jiggled on his feet, his usual poise gone to make him look charmingly vulnerable. Leaning in, he gave me a quick kiss on my neck. "Thanks, love," he whispered. His hand on my shoulder tightened, and with a quick hint of teeth he sent a spike of desire to my core.

"Stop that," I whispered, gently pushing him away and feeling myself flush.

Grinning, he retreated. With a self-assured nod to the rest of the men, he stuck his hands into his pockets and sauntered out.

Lord help me, I thought, pulling my hand down from my neck. I had the feeling he'd just used me to restore his confidence. Sure, he was afraid of the dead, but I was his girlfriend, and apparently proving it in front of three other guys had reaffirmed his masculinity. Whatever.